A Place of Greater Out Takes
by Velocity Girl1980
Summary: A companion piece to "A Place of Greater Danger". These are edited scenes from that story that I really wanted to include, but was forced to edit out for a number of reasons, but have kept in hope of being able to do something with. So, I decided to put them together here. Francis and Anne. Henry and Catherine, mostly.


**As the title suggests, this is a collection of edits and "deleted scenes" taken from my main story "A Place of Greater Danger". They are stories, incidents and small filler scenes that I really wanted to include in the main story, but had to edited our for a variety of reasons. At this stage in A Place of Greater Danger, I probably will not be able to work them into the story, so I have a choice of compiling them here, or deleting them completely (which I want to avoid). It's mostly fluff and angst and episodes from Francis' childhood with George Boleyn. But Anne and the others will also be included.  
**

**This episode was edited out of chapter two, when I decided instead to time jump to the birth of Princess Mary, soon after Francis' thirteenth birthday. In that chapter, this incident is recollected by Francis. He and George are both eight years old, it is the winter of 1511 and about a month following the death of the New Year's Prince.  
**

******Harder; Faster**

Francis, Duke of York, awoke suddenly and sat bolt upright in his bed. The furs slid sideways, on to the prostate form of George Boleyn lying on a pallet bed on the floor. The tallow fat candles had guttered and died long before, leaving the room much too dark to see. But he could hear George, snoring still and now partially covered by Francis' fallen furs. The boy shivered against a freezing winter draught and hugged his bony knees to his chest as the wailing sound came again.

He suppressed a whimper of fear as he turned sharply to the mullion windows. Tree branches scratched against the dark, blank glass as though they wanted to smash it in and pluck him from his bed. He gulped painfully, his throat dry from where his ragged breaths had parched him. '_Wake up, George,_' he silently, inwardly pleaded to his friend and groom. But George's gentle snores continued unabated.

Even as the long, drawn out moans came again. The muffled, rhythmic thumping against the back wall, like a battering ram. The scream stuck in Francis' throat, mercifully. He had no desire to look a craven. Until the crying woman moaned his name in a ghostly cry.

"Francis; Oh! Francis…" the keening wails of the woman sounded, muffled by the door. "Harder; faster. Fraaaaa-aancis!"

Her voice grew louder, more plaintive and keening. Enough to finally wake George, whose last snore became a grunt of discomfiture as he awoke. In the darkness, their gimlet eyes met from across a small distance. Now that he had conscious company, Francis knew he had to be brave.

"Can you hear it?" Francis asked, his voice an urgent whisper. "She said my name!"

"Ssh!" George shot back, pressing a finger to his lips. "She'll hear you."

Emboldened now that George was awake, Francis slid down from his tester bed. His bare feet landed softly on the clean rushes that lined his floor, but it was still as cold as a crypt. He took the fur that had slid from his bed and wrapped it round both his and George's shoulders. It was plenty big enough and still threatening to trip them as they padded silently towards the source of the terrifying noise. Both boys trembled as it came again: the same woman, the same pitiable keening.

"A banshee," George whispered.

Francis choked, swallowing the yelp of fear that rose in his throat. The banshee sings your name when it's your time to die. She stands outside your bedroom window, combing her wild hair and screaming, screaming, screaming your name.

"Oh, Francis!" she came again, "Harder, faster, now!"

They froze, stopping dead in their tracks in the outside corridor. Francis' guards had gone for the night, retreated to an alcove down the passageway, so they wouldn't have seen anything even if they had been here. George whined now, pulling the fur tighter round his left shoulder as though it would make a shield. They could both hear the noises much louder and clearly now. The moans and banging was accompanied by scuffles, like boots on loose gravel.

They walked further along the passageway, another ten feet further from Francis' bedroom door. Then George stopped, and pointed one skinny armed hand towards a closed door.

"In there," he whispered low.

Francis nodded as the racket from within the antechamber came again. His own name being wailed into the night. What could a banshee want with him? Had she come to take him up to heaven with his mother and father? Or down to hell, with the devil himself? _It's a banshee you fool,_ he chided himself, _no heavenly angels would send a messenger like that; you're off to hell_ _for killing dear Mama._

He and George glanced at one another, Francis hoping the tears of fear and regret didn't show in the poor light of the corridor. Either way, George said nothing as they reached for the door and wrenched it wide open with a yell of fear and determination mixed. They weren't going down without a fight!

The banshee's moans were cut off as she pushed a man aside, with her naked legs wrapped around his naked thighs it was a tricky thing to do. Her hair was wild, like a banshee, but what was she doing with Sir Francis Bryan? He jerked round to look at them, the diamonds in his eye patch glittering cheerfully in the light, still hiding the worst of his nakedness in the banshee's skirts. In horror, Francis realised the banshee's breasts were spilling over her silk bodice, one still squeezed in the right hand of Francis Bryan. Francis of York had never been so shocked; he was speechless.

"Shit Francis!" she yelped, breathless and scarlet in the face. "They saw us; they bloody saw us."

"Leave this to me, sweetling," Francis drawled at the banshee as he casually tied up his breeches.

He turned to the boys with a winning grin on his face and leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. The two boys had been too stunned to say anything, but they both regained their wits simultaneously as they dropped the fur with a cry of alarm, and ran furiously back down the passageway, as fast as their bare feet would carry them.

* * *

Catherine was awake, but she had not said anything. She and Henry lay in their great bed, but clung to one another like limpets in the glutinous semi-darkness. Resting her face against Henry's broad, bare chest as he gently ran his fingers through her thick, auburn hair. Every time she awoke in the night, she thought she could hear the Prince crying for a night feed. But the Prince is dead; it is only the memory of his hungry cries that awaken her now.

Almost as though Henry had read her mind, he lifted his head from the pillow and kissed the top of her head. He awoke in the night too, for the same reasons. But at least they had each other. They had shared a bed every night since Prince Henry died. Not for sex, but to just hold each other when the ghost cries awoke them in the small hours. They wept together, talked or just held one another, all through the storm of grief that engulfed them. They would do so, until it came time to start all over again. Surely, thought Catherine, the next would live. Boy or Girl, who cares? Just live and thrive, and grow strong.

Henry wrapped his arms around her, closing her in a tight embrace. Catherine squirmed with pleasure at his touch, sighing contentedly.

"How is little Fran?" she asked, letting her eyes drift closed. She meant Francis, who had been left to his own devices since the birth of the Prince and more so since that same Prince died. It made her feel guilty for poor orphaned Duke.

"I was supposed to check up on him," Henry confessed, his voice heavy and soothing. "I'll speak to his tutors tomorrow, I promise."

But Henry didn't have to wait that long. A commotion outside brought both he and Catherine back to earth with a thump. They sat up, frowning towards the doors of their Privy Chamber, towards the sound of muffled shouts from outside. The doors were flung open and Francis himself charged in, wearing only his night shirt. Breathless, Francis paused on the threshold, looked at them with terror etched on his little face and whimpered piteously before leaping onto their bed and burrowing between them.

Still rather taken aback by his sudden appearance, neither Henry nor Catherine could think what to say. A shame-faced guard appeared, about to start spilling excuses but Henry shooed him away before turning back to his brother. Francis peered over the top of the fur quilt, blue eyes wide with terror where Catherine smoothed back his mussed up hair. This better be good, he thought to himself. And it was good. In fact, it was priceless.

"I saw a naked banshee with her legs wrapped round Sir Francis Bryan," whispered Francis, as though scared the wailing lady of common folklore could still hear him. "Ithoughtshewaswailingmynamesowenttolookandgeorge-"

"Wow there!" Henry appealed as the explanation suddenly gushed from Francis in a great, indecipherable word salad. Catherine snorted with laughter, quickly disguising it as a cough. "Start at the beginning, Francis. You saw Sir Francis Bryan, with a naked banshee?"

Francis nodded, but said no more. He brought the quit up to his nose, so his mouth was covered. His big, sapphire eyes peered up at Henry imploringly. Meanwhile, Catherine composed herself and gently removed the quilt, sitting her nephew up and kissing his forehead. Eventually, the child composed himself enough to speak normally.

"I could hear banging and a lady calling my name out," he explained, starting at the beginning.

By the time he finished, Catherine had to leave to her privy as she was in convulsions of laughter. Henry was torn between doing the same as the Queen, and wanting to kill Francis Bryan. What was he thinking? So close to the Duke's chambers, rutting his latest whore like a stag in heat, by the sounds of it. The boy was an innocent, and the whole sex act had gone completely over his head.

"Francis," he said. "What you saw was just a lady," he explained, using the word 'lady' loosely. "And one day, when you are a man grown, you too will have a woman who shouts out your name in the middle of the night like that."

Francis face creased in confusion. "But I don't want one," he said, deeply dubious about the idea.

"Oh, you will," Henry grinned at him. "Trust me, little brother. But you will have your own chambers to make all that noise in and you'll not be waking sleeping children and scaring the life out of them."

Mercifully, Catherine returned and slid back into bed, still rosy cheeked from laughter. But now, she looked stern.

"Sometimes, I could blind his other eye, too," she stated, crossly. "His one-eyed trouser snake, that is."

Henry snorted with laughter, despite the fact that he was seriously tempted to actually do it. What was worth seeing was Catherine's smiles again. He would have to thank Francis Bryan for that. He scooped Francis up out of bed.

"Shall I take you back now?" he asked.

If Francis wanted to stay in their bed with them, he could. But he was getting a little old for it now, and usually only needed comforting after bad dreams before being returned once he was settled again. It was another step along the road to full independence. As Henry had guessed, Francis nodded and squirmed out of his arms. But he slid his little hand into Henry's, he squeezed it reassuringly.

"I wish I could have been braver," said Francis, as they walked along the darkened corridors.

"It sounds to me like you were," Henry replied.

Francis shrugged. "Not really, I was scared the whole time."

"Everyone gets scared, Francis," Henry assured him.

"But I was really scared, and had to wait for George to wake up before I could do anything," he said, sounding tremulous and worried. "I'll never be as brave as you!"

Henry sighed mightily and stopped Francis in his tracks. Kneeling down so that they were even, he looked the boy in the eye: "When I was in France, my men and I were scared before each and every battle," he said. "Catherine was scared before Flodden. We knew that people would die for us, and that is what scared us. Fear is healthy and natural. It stops you from behaving rashly; it makes you think twice."

Francis still didn't look happy. He was downcast and sullen.

"But I needed George to come with me," he confessed, shamefaced. "Or I wouldn't have gone at all."

Henry tilted Francis' chin up. "Only fools rush into danger without their friends for back up," Henry cautioned him. "That is not bravery; that is stupidity and will get you killed. You're a long time dead, Fran. So don't be in any hurry to reach the grave."

"Then what is bravery?" he asked.

Henry smiled. "Bravery is what you did," he said. "When you and your team feel the fear, and do it regardless."

Francis smiled through his uncertainty. "If you say so," he replied, at length,

He will learn, Henry thought to himself as he reached Francis' bedchamber and let them both in. George Boleyn, who had been ordered to "guard" the chamber, had already fallen asleep again. So they tip-toed around him as Henry put Francis back to bed again. When he left, he made a note to re-station the guards outside the door again.

Once Francis was settled, he yawned expansively. "Thank you," he said, sleepily.

Already his eyelids were drooping closed. How easy it was for children to recover from bumps, scrapes and shocks. If only grieving parents could heal so easily. Henry and Catherine, both still in their twenties, and the heart broken parents of three little ghosts. Francis, Henry's much younger brother, was the closest thing they had and, sometimes, Henry wished he could articulate it. He wished he could convey to Francis all that he was to Catherine and him. All the more reason why the boy shouldn't be sneaking around late at night.

"If something like this happens again," said Henry. "You must fetch your guards. If you got hurt while sneaking around the palace at night, it would be most unfortunate."

Henry caught himself on, though. His own father had locked him up to keep him safe and he vowed never to do that with his own children. Nor would he do it to Francis. He must have a childhood; the childhood their father would never have permitted him, had he lived so long. But Francis nodded, too sleepy to protest and Henry left the chamber, satisfied that all was well.


End file.
